My Husband Moved His Ex-Wife Into My Apartment: “They Had Nowhere Else to Go” — So I Packed Their Things
— Why are there strangers’ feet in my slippers?
Lera stood exhausted in the hallway, staring at the scene in front of her. She had worked ten hours straight, her shoulders ached, her legs were throbbing, and all she wanted was to finally collapse into her own bed.
But the home she had walked into was no longer the same.
A dirty woman’s boot had left a muddy stain on her favorite rug. Next to it, a pair of children’s shoes had been carelessly thrown aside. But the biggest shock was seeing someone else’s feet inside her soft house slippers.
Three huge checkered bags stood against the wall, stuffed with clothes. On the dresser lay her husband Viktor’s set of keys.
The smell of fried potatoes drifted from the kitchen, mixed with a strong, sweet perfume that made Lera’s throat tighten.
— Viktor! — she shouted.
A few seconds later, her husband appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt. On his face was that uncomfortable smile that tried to look both apologetic and confident at the same time.
Behind him stood a thin woman in a floral blouse.
Lera recognized her immediately.
Rita.
Her husband’s ex-wife.
— Lera, please don’t get upset right away, — Viktor said, stepping toward her.
— I’m not upset, — she replied coldly.
She took off her shoes, pushed the stranger’s boots aside, and walked further inside.
— I just want to know why there are strangers in my apartment.
Viktor scratched the back of his neck.
— You see… there was a little problem.
— Rita was kicked out of her rental.
— She would have ended up on the street. And little Misi is with her. I couldn’t just leave them alone.
Lera looked past Viktor into the kitchen.
Rita stood by the stove as if she had been cooking there for years. She had rearranged the salt and pepper containers like it was her own kitchen. The seven-year-old boy was drinking tea from Lera’s favorite mug.
— Hi, — Rita said quietly.
— I hope we’re not bothering you for long. Viktor said you had an empty room.
Lera slowly turned her eyes toward her husband.
— Viktor said that?
The man smiled awkwardly.
— Lera, don’t make a scene in front of the child.
— This is about people. We’re a family. We have to help each other.
— Family? — Lera repeated.
— Interesting. And when exactly did you decide you could make decisions about my apartment on behalf of other people?
Viktor sighed.
— They’re only staying temporarily.
— How long?
— A few weeks. They’ll find something.
Lera looked around.
Dinner was being cooked in her own cast-iron pan. On the table was the expensive butter she had bought only that morning for herself. Half the package was already gone.
Rita wasn’t acting like a guest.
She was acting like she had come home.
Lera had married Viktor three years earlier. Back then, he had moved in with nothing but a backpack, big dreams, and very little money.
But the apartment belonged to Lera.
She had worked for it for years. She paid the mortgage, the renovations, the furniture.
And now her husband had simply moved his ex-wife and her child into it.
— Fine, — Lera finally said in a tired voice.
— You can stay tonight.
Viktor relaxed.
— See? I knew you would understand.
— But tomorrow morning you leave.
The smile instantly disappeared from his face.
— Lera…
— The conversation is over.
She went into the bedroom and locked the door behind her.
The next morning, silence did not wake her.
The sound of a blender did.
It was Saturday. Eight in the morning.
Lera put on her robe and walked outside.
The bags were gone.
But instead, unfamiliar coats were hanging in the hallway.
In the bathroom, Rita’s shampoos, creams, and bottles lined up on Lera’s shelf.
And in the kitchen, there was already a cozy breakfast atmosphere.
Rita was making pancakes.
Viktor sat at the table, eating happily.
— Good morning! — Rita smiled.
— We made breakfast. Sit down, I’ll make you coffee.
Lera just stared.
At the crumbs on the table.
At the dirty dishes.
At the blender covered in batter, the one she used maybe once a year.
— Rita, — she said calmly.
— Why are your things still here?
Silence filled the room.
Viktor put down his fork.
— Lera, don’t start fighting first thing in the morning.
— I only asked a question.
— Where are they supposed to go? They have nowhere.
— Why don’t they have anywhere?
Lera looked directly at Rita.
— Why were you kicked out of your apartment?
Rita looked away.
Viktor quickly answered:
— The landlord was difficult.
— What kind of difficult?
— It doesn’t matter!
The man stepped closer.
— I’m a man. It’s my responsibility to solve problems.
Lera gave a bitter smile.
— As a man, maybe you should have paid for a hotel.
— Or found them another apartment.
— Not turned my home into a free shelter.
Rita suddenly turned around.
— We are not a burden!
— Viktor said everything here was shared!
Lera froze.
— Everything is shared?
Rita continued angrily:
— He said we were family. He said you wouldn’t object.
Viktor’s face went pale.
— Rita, don’t…
But it was too late.
Lera slowly looked at him.
— What did you say?
Rita sighed.
— I got into trouble because Viktor hasn’t been paying child support properly for months.
— I didn’t get my deposit back because I couldn’t keep paying the rent.
Lera narrowed her eyes.
— For months?
Viktor started explaining nervously.
— It was only a temporary problem.
— They reduced my bonus at work.
— The car repairs were expensive too.
Rita laughed bitterly.
— Temporary problem?
— You owe me almost two hundred thousand!
— Because of you, I’m being threatened with debt collection!
Lera just stood there.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Viktor wasn’t trying to help.
He was trying to hide his own debts by moving his problems into her apartment.
Free housing.
Free food.
Free comfort.
Paid for with her money.
— So this was your plan? — Lera asked.
— I was supposed to feed you, wash your clothes, and clean up after you all for months?
Viktor’s face turned red.
— You’re a selfish woman!
— You begrudge a child a piece of bread!
Lera simply looked at him.
For three years, she had believed she was living with a trustworthy man.
Now she saw someone who was trying to carry other people’s lives on her shoulders.
— This apartment belongs to me, — she said calmly.
— I owned it before I met you.
— You don’t even have a registered address here.
Viktor became furious.
— I’m your husband!
— And I want to live in my own home.
Lera took out her phone.
— You have fifteen minutes.
— Pack your things.
— All of you.
Viktor sat down.
— I’m not going anywhere.
— Call whoever you want. We’ll see who can throw me out of here.
Lera didn’t argue.
She simply started dialing.
— Hello, I need some assistance…
Viktor immediately jumped up.
— Are you seriously calling the police on me?!
The phone screen still only showed the numbers.
She hadn’t even pressed call.
But Viktor understood the message.
Ten minutes later, the bags were back in the hallway.
Rita nervously packed her belongings.
Misi cried because he didn’t understand why they had to leave.
Viktor silently got dressed.
At the door, he looked back one last time.
— You’ll regret this.
— I’m filing for divorce.
Lera took the keys from the cabinet.
She removed her own keys from the key ring.
She left only the gate opener for her husband.
— Take the leftover pancakes too.
The door closed.
Lera turned the lock twice.
Finally, there was silence.
She opened the window and let in the cold November air.
A week later, she had the locks changed.
Viktor called several more times.
He talked about love.
About family.
About regret.
But Lera no longer listened.
She was looking at a new cast-iron pan.
One that would be used only for her own breakfasts.
Without anyone else’s oil.
